


What You Make

by MomoYoMaki



Series: Look into my eyes, it’s where my demons hide [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Baby assassin Natasha, Black Widow Program, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes is a teddy bear, Bucky adopts Natasha, Bucky breaks away from Hydra, Bucky trains Natasha, Families of Choice, Gen, Hydra (Marvel), Natasha's Winter Soldier training, Papa Bucky, Pre-Canon, Protective Bucky Barnes, Timeline What Timeline, Unconventional Families, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, a murderous teddy bear, and his baby assassin squad, everyone needs a hug basically, the world is not ready, with the entireity of their Black Widow program
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-25 22:09:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13222233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MomoYoMaki/pseuds/MomoYoMaki
Summary: Natasha had still been Natalia then, when she'd met him.The Winter Soldier, the other girls whispered, aren't you scared?What a stupid question.





	What You Make

**Author's Note:**

> There's not nearly enough fics about Bucky and Natasha out there, so here's my contribution. Credit to magdaliny's beautiful fic "I'll build a house inside of you" which brought the other girls in the Black Widow program to my attention. Title from the song Demons by Imagine Dragons.

 

_Your eyes, they shine so bright_

_I wanna save that light_  
_I can't escape this now_  
 _Unless you show me how_

 

 

Natasha had still been Natalia then, when she'd met him. She had been picked from the many girls, carefully selected for her fierceness in a fight and her perfectly blank expression when she twisted the other girls arms in a spar. They were going to let her train with the American.

 

The Winter Soldier, the other girls whispered, aren't you scared?

What a stupid question.

She was excited, though she tried not to show it. They'd offered her this opportunity first, above the other girls. She was finally surpassing them and that meant survival. 

That feeling died as soon as the American entered the training room. 

He stalked like a predator, soundless against the mats, and his metal arm glinted against black combat gear. His hair hung wildly to frame his dead eyes and the lower half of his face was obscured by a muzzle. She knew it was a muzzle and not a mask because she knew their handlers hated to let them have anything like free speech. He must have spoken a lot, to deserve a muzzle. 

She understood with sudden clarity why he was called the Winter Soldier. His presence was like ice on her skin. She wondered suddenly, horribly, if this wasn't training at all, but punishment. A punishment she might not survive.

What followed wasn't a lesson, but a beat down. As her handlers watched, the American calmly and brutally threw her out of every combat stance she knew until her arms were black bruises and she'd thrown up all of her morning meal. 

The message was clear; don't get cocky.

Afterward, the American watched her blankly as she crawled off the mat and she wondered how long she'd have to train for that same level of detachment as her handlers dragged her away.

The second time was a real lesson, with only a couple handlers taking notes. The American slowed down his moves so she could watch and try them for herself. 

Repeat, repeat, repeat.

He never made any effort to communicate, simply beat the lesson into her and then let the handlers take him away.

In the fifth lesson she made a rash move and dislocated her shoulder swinging from his metal arm. She was only seven and didn't know how to set it herself yet, so she let it hang limply at her side until the end of the lesson. 

But when she made to pass him afterward he broke routine and lifted his metal hand to stop her. The handlers were conferring together and didn't cast them more then a glance from their corner as he crouched in front of her. She realized as he took her elbow that he meant to reset her shoulder and she relaxed her muscles to accommodate. His right hand landed on the base of her neck and his thumb stroked her skin when he slammed her shoulder back into place. It was almost as if he intended to comfort her through the pain, but that would be silly because she hadn't cried from pain in a long time. 

Yet that night as she lay in bed waiting for sleep she felt tears sting her eyes and roll wetly down her cheeks into the pillowcase.

She didn't know why.

 

 

...

 

 

As rough as the American was when they sparred she noticed his hands were gentle when he corrected her stance, even his metal one. She didn't think the handlers could tell from where they watched and his eyes never thawed. She tried to copy the stoicism, straightening her spine and thinning her lips. That made the handlers happy.

Her favourite part of the lessons came right at the end, when the handlers were gathering their files and the American would touch his right hand to the back of her neck for the briefest moment. It felt like praise and something softer, and it filled her with more pride then the words from her handlers ever managed.

It was hard to tell if she improved during lessons because the American never faltered, but three months later they let her fight another agent and she nearly broke his neck by accident. 

The next time they were due for a lesson she was given a combat suit instead.

"You will shadow the Winter Soldier on his mission." One woman told her and then brought her to a different room where the American sat surrounded by technicians.

They buzzed around like moths and one of them was fiddling with the metal arm. Natalia slunk over to stand at his other elbow and peered over his arm at the briefing in his right hand. His only acknowledgment of her presence was a slow glance of his eyes. He didn't stop her from reading the briefing though, even though she was invading his space, nor did he do anything when she stood on tiptoe and watched in fascination as the technician spun wires and tightened plates in his left arm.

The handlers dropped them near a town. It was the first time she'd ever been alone with the American. She watched the truck leave the way it had come before turning back to him to wait for instructions.

He was already watching her.

For a long moment he didn't do anything, then he slowly lifted a hand and crooked a finger at her. She moved until she stood right in front of him and he turned her with prod to her shoulders. She felt his hands in her hair, quickly and methodically braiding it into two pigtails. He tied them off with rubber bands.

"Pretty and practical." 

His voice was rough and muffled by the muzzle. It was the first time she'd heard him speak.

She touched her hair gingerly.  _Pretty_.

By the time they returned to the compound the pigtails were falling out and dirty but Natalia still stared into the mirror for ten minutes, memorizing the look of them.

 

 

...

 

 

The American only spoke to her when they were completely alone. Never around handlers, never in the compound. Natalia learned to listen vey carefully on missions, so she wouldn't miss any words when he spoke. 

She started to leave her hair down, but she kept hair ties in her pocket and offered them up as soon as the handlers left them alone. And every time he took them and twisted her hair this way or that with practiced ease. It was funny that he never tied his own long hair back despite being so good at it.

She participated in her first mission in the dead of winter. She posed as a student in a ballet class that was invited to perform for the city's mayor, sneaking away during rehearsal and stealing the data file from the man's office. She made sure to trip a single silent alarm and then left the way she came. The mayor would bring in the consultant he used for his security and the American would take them both out.

Her one mistake; she was too slow on her escape and was forced to leave the building in only her dress.  _Stupid_ , she chided herself,  _you deserve to freeze for such a miscalculation_.

She crept up to the empty office in the building across the street and let herself into the room silently. The American watched her from his spot by the window, sniper rifle propped up beside him.

She tried very hard to hide her pride from him when she presented the data file, but he seemed to have some sort of sixth sense and she was never able to deceive him. He tucked the data file away in his gear and reached out to rub his thumb over the back of her neck as had become his habit. She should probably be alarmed to have his hand at her vulnerable neck, but the thought never occurred to her. 

She ducked her head to hide her pleased smile and went to curl up in a corner of the room. She knew better then to distract him on a mission and she'd gotten good at waiting while he lay patiently on rooftops with his rifle trained on his latest target.

She wrapped her arms around her knees and locked her jaw to keep from shivering. The handlers wouldn't be impressed with her for leaving her clothes. But maybe they'd be appeased if she froze for the rest of the mission. With that thought, Natalia settled in to count the minutes of what was certain to be the longest evening of her life.

By the time she'd counted thirty two minutes her body was shaking itself out of the trained stillness she'd settled into and her fingers were taking on a pale blue shade.

The American shifted across the room. She looked up and saw he was shedding his gear, placing the belts and straps in a pile beside the sniper rifle until he was left only in the insulated jacket they'd outfitted him with for this mission. 

He unzipped the jacket and crooked a finger. "Come here, Natalia."

She shuffled across the room stiffly and knelt hesitantly two feet away from him.

"Come." He repeated and held the edges of his jacket open.

Cautiously, she crawled into his lap and he folded the jacket around her. She knew she was small for her age, but he actually managed to zip the jacket back up most of the way even with her tucked under his chin. His skin was warm despite the cold air and he smelled of gun oil. She toed her shoes off and pulled her feet in, sticking them into one of the many pockets in his pants. When he didn't stop her, she laid her head against his chest so his heartbeat thudded in her ears.

Once she had settled he moved back into his position at the window, leaning beside the rifle, his fingers steady on the trigger. From this angle she could see the faint line of scarring where his metal arm attached to skin beneath the jacket. Feeling brave, she traced it with her finger, making patterns across the ugly red for hours until he pulled the trigger once, twice, and the mission was complete.

 

 

...

 

 

Natalia treasured their missions together like the most precious gold. Each time he stroked her neck, braided her hair, called her by name, and let her slip her hand into his, was hoarded secretly in her heart. Once, he told her solemnly that she was too pretty for her own good and she'd nearly given their hiding spot away with her fit of giggles. 

She remembered quite clearly being afraid of him that first time, months ago, but she couldn't see it anymore. Not even when he was covered in blood and his eyes didn't recognize her. 

That happened, sometimes, before missions. Either he remembered very fast after that, or he was very good at pretending not to know her around the handlers. He  _did_  remember her though. 

One time, after she'd been training with him for over a year, she snuck after him when the handlers took him away after a mission. She had ideas of visiting him whenever she wanted. He probably couldn't leave, because the handlers hated it when they wandered about, but a little girl might be able to sneak in.

They took him far deeper into the compound then she'd ever been before, past hazard doors and many, many key codes. Natalia didn't recognize any of the machines in the final room.

They prepped the American a lot like they would have for a mission, only instead of gearing him up they stripped him down. One of the handlers watched the procedure with a keen eye, a red book in his hand. Natalia thought she could see a black star on the cover, but the angle was wrong and she couldn't be sure.

In the end they dragged the American into a machine of heavy glass, stringing him up inside like a puppet. Then they left him there.

She waited for them to return until her ankles hurt from her crouch, but they didn't come. They must come eventually, she reasoned, whatever this procedure was, it had to have an end. 

But no one came.

Slowly she inched from her hiding place and further into the room. Emboldened when no one came running, she tiptoed to the glass machine and looked up into the face of the American.

He was asleep, no... he looked dead. His eyes were closed and his chest didn't move. Natalia reached out and touched the glass. It was icy cold.

"No..." She whispered and tapped the glass as loudly as she dared. 

The American didn't wake up.

Panic welled in her chest. "No, no, please come back!"

She slapped her hands to her mouth to stifle the noise and breathed deeply. No, he couldn't be dead. The handlers still needed him. This must be where he returned after every mission. This must be  _normal_.

He was only frozen.

_Only frozen_.

Natalia stayed there as long as she dared, curled up in front of the machine with her nose and hands pressed to the glass, until she had to return to her bedroom or risk her handlers finding her gone.

 

 

...

 

 

She returned to the ice chamber whenever her handlers were being inattentive. She dragged one of the tech chairs over to the glass machine and whispered to him about her day with her cheek pressed against the glass. She always left with her skin red and stinging from the freezing cold, but she didn't mind.

She didn't tell him about her visits when he emerged for their lessons each month, but when they sat and waited for targets she wrapped her arms around him and tried to give back the warmth he'd given her during the winter mission. He looked at her a little longer when she did this, and she thought he was confused, but he never stopped her.

Sixteen months after she'd met the American her handlers had her kill one of the other girls. She was one of the more rebellious ones, always asking questions that didn't concern her. 

Her name was Karina.

They set them to sparring, which was not unusual, and Natalia won. She always did, these days. Only that when she held Karina in a headlock and the other girl tapped out, their trainer didn't give the signal to stop.

"Kill her." The man said, and Natalia snapped her neck.

She was the first of the girls to kill.

That night she wedged herself behind the ice chamber so no one would find her and cried. 

"Her name was Karina." She whispered to the still form of the American. And feeling rebellious she added. "I didn't want to kill her."

There was no point wishing for things like that or crying, not for them. But she imagined the American would touch the back of her neck and maybe let her hold his hand. It was okay to cry if there was somebody to comfort you.

But the American was frozen and couldn't giver her anything.

Her first mission kill wasn't long after that. The American showed her how to conceal a knife and then stick it between a grown man's ribs, and she executed the move perfectly in a crowded market without getting caught.

"Alright?" He asked when she met him in the woods, even though he had to have been watching.

"It wasn't my first kill." She told him.

The American paused in his step and angled his body towards her. An invitation to elaborate if she wanted.

So she told him about Karina.

His reaction was even better then she'd imagined. He scooped her up off the ground as if she was much younger then eight years and wrapped his arms around her. Natalia tucked her head into his neck even though his combat gear wasn't at all comfortable and irrationally felt that no one in the world would be able to find her if the American kept her in his arms.

"I'm sorry, baby girl." He murmured into her hair, like a secret.

That was the moment Natalia consciously decided the American was hers.

 

 

...

 

 

 

The invisible clock that had started ticking when she'd met the American twenty months ago ran out on a cool autumn day after their thirty-first lesson.

She was stepping off the mats to her handlers who spoke amongst themselves as ever, ignoring her presence as if she did not have ears.

That was when the eternal ice in the American's eyes finally thawed.

She saw it because she was always watching, saw the ice crack, splinter, and evaporate in the fire that took over his eyes.

"Considering her progress rate, it is time to enact the next training level and accustom her to sexual intercourse."

It took two seconds for the American to shoot everyone in the room but her.

She could see his jaw work under the muzzle as he lowered the gun. "We're leaving."

"Okay." She didn't once consider saying no.

She took a gun off one of the dead bodies and fell into step behind him. 

"Stay at my six. You  _only_  provide back up if  _absolutely_  necessary."

He waited for her to nod, then hit the control panel for the door.

They couldn't hold him, of course they couldn't. 

(She'd learn later that they  _should_  have been able to hold him, and then she'd be forced to consider the implications of why they couldn't.)

He tore through the handlers and agents like paper, leaving the hallway slick with red blood. Natalia followed in his shadow, leaving red footsteps in her wake.

The American's steps only faltered once, when a handler barked a word at him. She didn't know the word, but she recognized a code when she heard one and she pressed into his side to hide herself. He snapped forward again at her touch and soon that handler was dead too.

The American came back to her and put a hand between her shoulder blades, propelling her to a supply closet. 

"Wait here." He told her once she was inside and then vanished down the hall like a ghost.

Natalia crouched down with one eye pressed to the crack in the door and her gun ready. The handler with the code word was laying just in her field of vision, his mouth open in surprise and blood leaking from his head. He looked familiar, and she gently pushed the door open a little more for a better look, recognizing him now. It was the handler with the book, the one that stood and watched while the American was prepped with a look in his eyes that made Natalia want to throw up. She didn't know what was in the book, but it involved the American and the man had used a code word none of the others had.

For the first time ever, Natalia disobeyed a direct order from the American and left her hiding spot. She kept her gun in one hand and used the other to methodically search the body of the handler until her fingers brushed stiff leather in one of the coats pockets. She pulled it out carefully, handling it like a live grenade. 

The cover was as red as the blood on the floor, the black star standing out starkly and reminding her of the red one painted on the American's arm.

She tucked the book into the waistband of her pants at her back and pulled her shirt over it, and then arranged the body back into its original splayed position. 

She made to return to the closet, but just then the American ducked back into the hall and she froze guiltily.

"What are you doing?" He asked before shaking his head. "Doesn't matter. Come, we have to hurry."

He hesitated for a moment when she reached him. "I'm going to carry you."

He made it sound like a question, so Natalia set the safety on her gun and lifted her arms expectantly. He lifted her with his right, bracing her on his hip and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Close your eyes." He whispered.

She thought that was a ridiculous request. She'd seen what sort of carnage he was capable of long ago, but she complied.

She didn't open them when he fired his gun, or when she heard strangled off shouts, or when his body twisted and turned and she knew he was throwing people with his metal hand. Not when heat swept up behind them in the unmistakable crack of an explosion.

She kept her eyes closed until fresh air bit into her cheeks and then she couldn't help herself anymore. 

The compound was a dark shadow in the evening, fire licking up one corner of the building. Near the labs, her mental map told her. Nowhere near her bedroom and the other girls.

She watched it until the flames vanished into the distance, but the American didn't stop running until the moon was high in the sky. When he did, it was abruptly. His left hand fluttered up to touch her back hesitantly and he sank to his knees, loosening his grip enough that she could lean back in his arms to look at him.

The fire in his eyes had died away but they hadn't returned to ice either.

"Are they going to catch us?" She asked.

"They are going to try." He murmured.

"But you won't let them." 

"I won't let them." He agreed.

"Good." Natalia nodded, then she reach up to brush her fingers over the muzzle. "Can I take this off?"

She could see his throat work as he swallowed and nodded jerkily.

She moved her fingers slowly up to the clasp, the way he moved slowly to rub his thumb over the back of her neck.

The muzzle came off easily and she placed it gently on the ground beside them. Then she reached out carefully and ran her fingers over his face. He had scratchy stubble along his jaw.

"Do you have a name too?" She wondered.

"I...think it's Bucky." He said so quietly she almost didn't hear it.

"That's a silly name." She informed him. "But you can keep it."

His mouth twitched under her fingers and she realized with a rush that he was smiling.

"'that so, Natalia?"

"Natasha." She corrected. "I want you to call me Natasha."

"Natasha." He repeated.

They left the muzzle on the ground beside her gun when they picked themselves up again.

 

 

...

 

 

The American, (Bucky, what a weird name,) chose to walk for the first three days and avoid towns, knowing any form of transportation out of the area would be watched. Natasha didn't mind, because he carried her on his back every few hours and that was a novel experience.

She could almost imagine they were on another mission, except now that they were out and away from all the handlers Bucky seemed to be making up for all his time in the ice chamber by giving her his undivided attention. He listened to whatever she had to say no matter how frivolous with a serious expression and didn't make her stick to any mission protocols. She could skip ahead or lag behind, and he even let her sing quietly when she got really bored. He braided and re-braided her hair as many times as she asked and smiled crookedly whenever she did. 

Best of all, he showed her physical affection. He let her hold his hand, both flesh and metal, whenever she wanted and she tested his patience by holding hands for three hours straight. (He didn't shake her off or even look marginally annoyed.) He let her swing off his metal arm while they walked and even reached out to brush her hair from her eyes every once in while. He let her sleep on his back and the two times he stopped to rest himself he let her curl up in his lap just like she had on the winter mission.

Some of the other girls in the compound had come from homes. They knew what it meant to have family and some even knew what it meant to be loved. Natasha must have been very young when she was recruited, because she had no memories before the compound, but she thought she might finally understand what the other girls meant when they said "home."

On the fourth day Bucky snuck into a town and returned with civilian clothes for the both of them. He brought her two pairs of pants, three shirts, and a wool dress.

"Which one am I supposed to wear?" She asked in bafflement. She'd never been given options before.

"We're not on a mission. You can pick." He reminded her.

She picked the dress.

 

 

...

 

 

Bucky took them to Germany and she didn't think to question it until he brought her to the orphanage. 

They'd hitchhiked, hidden in the back of trains, and even stowed away on a cargo boat for a little while, and she'd been content to nap against his shoulder and not wonder at their destination.

Now, on the edge of the woods bordering the orphanage property, she felt ice claw through her lungs.

"They have room for you, I called ahead." Bucky said quietly. "They're one of the best in Europe, and most of their kids get adopted."

Natasha opened her mouth and didn't know what to say.

"Go on." Bucky told her, taking a step back towards the trees. "They might still have supper left for you, if you hurry."

For a moment she almost let him walk away. If he didn't want her, what could she do? Better not to throw a fuss.

But the words of one of her handlers rang through the terrified stillness in her mind. 

_"Greedy little spider, you will never learn to give up."_

The handler hadn't meant it as praise, but she'd clung to it fiercely. She  _was_  greedy. Taking things with her own two hands had been the only way she'd ever gotten anything.

She spun around and latched on to the metal hand with both of her own.

"No!" 

Bucky startled and tugged almost reluctantly to free his hand. "Natasha-"

"I don't want this! Don't leave me here!" She raised her voice, uncaring that she could be drawing attention to them. 

"I won't go!" She tightened her grip until her knuckles whitened from the strain, panic leaking into her voice. He could have easily broken her grip but she  _knew_  he didn't want to hurt her.

"You can have a home now." He said desperately. "Natasha, you can have parents-"

"I don't need parents!" She screamed at him and she felt hot tears streak down her cheeks. "I already have a father!"

Bucky froze, his face as white as a sheet.

"Please!" She begged. "Please don't leave me here!"

"I can't- I can't be a father, Natasha-" Bucky choked.

"You already  _are_." She insisted. "I don't have anybody else, please!"

Bucky stared at her, his eyes wide and frightened in a way she'd never seen.

"Please," she whispered, "please, papa."

Bucky sucked in a sharp breath and collapsed to his knees. 

"I was gonna get the other girls out." He said helplessly. "I was gonna bring them here for you."

Cautiously, Natasha followed him to the ground. "I can help. We can bring them with us."

He barked a surprised laugh. "All twelve of them?"

"Why not?" She let go of his hand and crawled into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck.

To her shock, he started to cry. He stayed completely quiet, but those were defiantly tears. Trembling, he cocooned her in his arms.

"I'm a monster." He told her. "What kind of father would a monster be?"

"The prefect kind for little monsters." 

He gave a watery laugh. "A whole family of monsters? Are we going to put that on the front door?"

"No, that would be warning people." Natasha smiled.

Bucky pressed his face to her hair. "Is that a sense of humour? It suits you."

"Everything suits me, because I'm too pretty for my own good." She reminded him, and finally felt it safe to relax. 

_He wasn't leaving her._

This time his laugh sounded closer to a hysterical giggle. "Are you sure you don't want a normal family?"

Natasha tightened her grip. "I'm sure, papa."

 

 

...

 

 

She thought having a self imposed mission was good for the both of them, considering they were the recent escapees of a "psychological and physically abusive kidnapping with the intent of indoctrination", as her library book told her. She wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but it seemed to fit somehow.

In that same library Bucky brought her an atlas and they hunkered down in an out of the way corner with a lone computer.

"If we're going to do this right we need to set up a safe house first." He murmured, going to boot up the computer. "So pick a country."

"I can pick?" Natasha asked in delight. 

"Yeah, just not something too close to Russia. And uhh, maybe not America." He winced. "I'm pretty sure that's where I come from, so they might look there."

Natasha really wanted to ask about his past, but the library was probably not the best place for those questions, so instead she flipped through the atlas and ran the pros and cons of countries through her mind.

Once she'd reached a decision she padded over to the computer and peered curiously over Bucky's shoulder. "What are you doing, papa?"

Bucky twitched at the name. He did that every time she said it and at first she'd been concerned. However she'd quickly figured out that the twitching wasn't necessarily a bad thing and then it became funny.

"Police reports." He nodded at the screen. "Wanted to see if they've tapped those resources yet."

"Did they?"

"Yeah, but no pictures, just descriptions. We should be fine on that front." He turned in his chair towards her. "Did you pick?"

Natasha grinned and presented the atlas proudly. "Canada!"

"Canada?"

"It has lots of immigrants, so we won't stand out, and so much space that we could easily live in the woods somewhere and no one would ever know. And..." She hesitated.

"And?" Bucky prompted gently.

Natasha ducked her head. "You're the American. We can't go to your home, but this is close."

Bucky was silent for a moment and then his hand landed on the back of her neck and she looked up. He smiled and leaned in so their foreheads touched. 

"Thanks, baby girl." He murmured.

 

 

...

 

 

 

Bucky cut his hair and dyed Natasha's brown to match his. He had her prove she really could speak German fluently before finally booking tickets for a flight to Canada. 

The weather was on their side, and nobody looked oddly at Bucky's gloves or the scarf Natasha buried the lower half of her face in when they went to the airport.

"Someone here will be on the alert for us." He'd warned her. "We need to be very, very careful."

Natasha thought he was still displaying an unwarranted amount of nerves given his abilities, and told him so when he slumped beside her in one of the seats at their flight gate.

"If one of 'em knows the codes, Natasha, I won't be able ta fight 'em." He whispered in response, his drawl thickening with each word. 

"Like the man in the hall?"

"Yeah. But he only got one out."

Natasha recalled how dead Bucky's eyes had looked when she'd first met him and shivered, suddenly very aware of the book at her back. She forgotten it at first, and then it hadn't seemed important. 

She glanced at the digital clock on the wall, noting they still had ten minutes until boarding. 

She slid out of her chair and tugged at Bucky's coat sleeve. "I need to show you something."

Bucky frowned. "Now?"

"It's important."

He made a show of sighing for the couple people that glanced their way and followed her towards the bathrooms. 

Natasha pulled him into the family room and locked the door.

Bucky was watching her with raised eyebrows when she turned around, starting to look concerned.

She pulled the book out quickly to forestall his questions, holding it out without a word.

Bucky gaped. There was really no attractive way of putting it.

"That's-when did-" He stuttered. "They keep that locked up!"

"Not when they're going to use it." Natasha corrected. "The man in the hall had it on him."

Bucky reached out tentatively, as if he thought the book would bite.

Her father was a bit of a ridiculous man, Natasha thought fondly. Well, maybe he was allowed to be a little wary of the book if it really did contain the codes to the Winter Soldier.

"Why did you take this? How do you know what it is?"

Oh.

Natasha winced and mumbled. "I followed you to the ice chamber."

"To- oh." Bucky stared at her with a mix of emotions she couldn't parse. "I'm sorry. That- that can't have been fun to watch."

"I thought you were dead the first time." Natasha admitted and went willingly into his arms when he crouched in front of her.

"Oh baby girl. I'm so sorry."

They stayed like that for a long moment, until the loudspeaker announced their flight was boarding.

Bucky tucked the book into his coat before they left the bathroom, a pensive look in his eyes.

 

 

...

 

 

Canada was  _creepy_ , Natasha was horrified to realize.

Bucky laughed at her when she told him this, but it was true. They were overly friendly and had no concept of personal space starting right when you stepped off the plane. But they were as diverse and accepting of newcomers as Natasha had been led to believe, so there was that.

Now they stood somewhere in British Columbia in front of an aged bed and breakfast with a tacky for sale sign in the driveway. Bucky had convinced the realtor to wait in his car and let them look around on their own.

"I like the colour." Natasha declared after a minute of inspecting the rusty red siding.

"I suppose that's step one." Bucky chuckled and started up the driveway.

Bucky talked her through assessing the surroundings for defensibility and where the wrap around porch could be adjusted to incorporate an alarm system if they had the right tools.

"We'll have to rig the trees, to make sure no one can use them as cover without us knowing." He explained before finally feeling satisfied enough with their sweep to actually enter the house.

Natasha liked the house a lot, but that could just be the novelty of being able to  _have_  a house now. It had a large open kitchen, living room, and eight bedrooms upstairs. 

"The girls will have to double up." Bucky said thoughtfully.

"We've only ever slept in one giant room together. I think it'll be fine." Natasha dismissed, her own attention fixed on the master bedroom and it's large space. 

"You'll have to get a really big bed, papa." She told Bucky when he joined her.

"Why's that?" 

"Just trust me."

He raised an eyebrow dubiously, but didn't press.

They bought the house with money stolen from their handlers accounts and Natasha spent the next month watching intently as Bucky showed her how to rig hidden doors into the walls of every room and explained patiently how to put together their own alarm system. 

The red book was burned in what amounted to a bonfire outside.

"Only a few people that know the codes left now." Bucky said a bit viciously as he watched the smoke curl into the sky.

Natasha had a feeling those few people weren't going to live very much longer.

By the end of the month the house had been transformed into something that could probably withstand an army, but it was hardly finished. The walls still needed to be painted and the extent of their furniture consisted of bare beds and the long table in the dinning room that had come with the place.

But it was safe enough now to hide a dozen little girls in.

 

 

...

 

 

 

Bucky's instructions had been very clear. Get in, get the girls, get out, do  _not_  engage anyone in combat. 

He'd made her swear by everything he could think of and she'd been worried he was going to have her sign it in blood too, but eventually he'd resigned himself to her presence on the rescue. Her argument for coming made sense after all. The girls were more likely to trust her and Bucky had handlers with code words to kill.

Besides, Natasha was  _good_. Bucky had trained her himself.

It was weird to be back in her combat suit and see Bucky looking every inch the Winter Soldier again. Nearly every inch anyway, as he hadn't replaced the muzzle.

The compound looked darker in reality then it did in her memories and Natasha felt a full body awareness prickling along her skin that she hadn't realized she'd lost since she'd left. She didn't want to go back in there.

Bucky noticed her tensing and reached out to lay his hand on her neck in silent comfort. That in itself was enough of a reason to go back in. Maybe she hadn't known the other girls well, had never been encouraged to bond with them, but there was an unspoken knowledge that they were all the same. She wanted them to experience the feel of a hand on their neck that meant only for comfort and not pain.

Natasha straightened her spine and nodded at Bucky who crouched to offer her his left arm. 

She stepped up onto his forearm, crouching herself to balance, and gave him another nod. 

Bucky stood and spun, launching her up into the dark high above the compound wall. Her hand snagged the ledge of the air vent near the top of the building and she braced her feet against the wall. Five seconds later she'd pried the grating off and threw herself into the narrow space, carefully laying the grating down without making any noise.

Then she waited.

It only took Bucky a few minutes to set off a truly fantastic racket of alarms near the opposite side of the compound and Natasha started slinking forward through the vents. They were small, to prevent exactly this, but Natasha was a tiny slip of a girl and could make it work. 

She paused briefly above the vent to the girls bedroom to brace herself then kicked the vent in and dropped down, hands already held up. 

She was greeted with crouched forms hugging the walls, sleep still heavy in the younger girls eyes but the action automatic.

She straightened slowly, her hands still raised. “It’s me, Natalia.”

A voice that she recognized as Evgenia’s repeated suspiciously. “Natalia?” 

Evgenia’s eyes peered at her like a cat’s in the dim light. “They told us you defected with the Winter Soldier.”

“We escaped.” Natasha corrected, lowering her hands now that she had been recognized. “And we can get you out now too. We have a safe house and the American will protect us. The handlers can do nothing against him.”

“The Winter Soldier?” One of the other girls repeated. Natasha thought it was Ludmilla, but she and Nadja always sounded similar.

She knew their hesitation wasn’t really a matter of escape. They were like her, and she had always secretly, quietly, wanted to get away from the compound and handlers, though she’d never admitted it even to herself. But they knew of the Winter Soldier even if they had never trained with him like she had. She remembered the cold terror she’d felt in the pit of her stomach the first time she’d met him.

“He’ll bring you to the safe house, or an orphanage, or leave you here, whatever you want. I swear on my blood.” Natasha whispered fiercely. Then added, much softer. “He lets me call him papa.”

The others were quiet, but Jekaterina’s tiny voice pipped up from under one of the beds. “He’s a papa?”

Jekaterina was the youngest of them, maybe two or three years old if they had guessed correctly, and had only been with them a few months. Natasha didn’t think she understood any of what they’d been saying, really.

“A very good papa. He lets me hold his hand.”

Jekaterina peeked out from under the bed. “Does he give hugs?”

“Big hugs, like a bear.”

Jekaterina nodded as if this was a very serious matter. “Can we go now?”

“Yes. We need to go while the guards are distracted.” 

As one the girls rose to join her, as she’d known they would.

“We’ll leave through the northwest maintenance hatch.” She directed them, lifting her gun and readying it.

A couple of the girls had knives on them and they pulled them out as they slunk out of the room and down the empty hall.

The maintenance hatch was located two hallways down from the bedroom and while it lead outside, they would still have to cross a stretch of open ground to get to the wall and then scale it without being shot off the thing.

They didn’t encounter anyone on their way. They even got the hatch open with minimum fuss before they were spotted by a balding handler rounding the corner at a hurried pace. He managed to shout before Natasha shot him through the chest and suddenly there were agents appearing from both sides of the hallway.

Natasha cursed like she’d heard Bucky do and pulled her second gun to fire in both directions while shouting at the girls to go.

She shot three agents before the others were in range of her kicks and consequently she in range of their weapons. 

Nadja darted back to help her cover the hatch, picking up a taser from one of the dead handlers and using it viciously to stab at the ones left standing. Four to two would be terrible odds for anyone.

Natasha fired her last shot into an agent’s kneecap and swung herself up onto a second, wrapping her legs around his neck to strangle him and using her hand to jab at his temple, knocking him out and into the man attacking Nadja.

Natasha risked a glance at the hatch and saw the last of the girls vanish through it. 

“Go, Nadja!” She hissed and flung herself at the last agent.

She managed to knock the taser from his hand, but unlike the others this man had a gun concealed at his hip and he smoothly raised the barrel between her eyes.

Natash tried to scamper backwards, knowing already that she was too slow.

The bullet thudded into flesh and Natasha stared at the black combat gear now smeared with blood inches from her face. 

Bucky’s hands snapped out and ripped the man’s head off his body. His metal arm dripped with blood as he turned, scooping her up under the elbows and depositing her into the hatch in front of a stunned Nadja. 

“You’re hurt-“ Natasha tried to say but Bucky cut her off.

“Go, I’m right behind you.” His eyes and mouth were set into a vicious snarl.

Natasha went, shoving Nadja in front of her. She heard the hatch screech closed behind them.

The other girls were hugging the shadows outside, afraid to give away their position, and they stared at Bucky with open mouths when he joined them.

Natasha could see his eyes flickering over them, doing a mental headcount and checking for injuries.

“You all okay?” He asked gruffly. She could tell he was trying to gentle his voice, but the blood stood out starkly and he couldn’t snap his eyes out of their battle focus.

Ludmilla hefted Jekaterina higher, her face set with determination. “We’re ready to go.”

Bucky nodded and calmly shot a guard off the wall when he turned towards them. “Natasha, you first. Stand guard.”

Natasha followed him to the wall and accepted his boost up. She crouched on wall with her guns drawn while Bucky lifted the others up to her and Ludmilla caught the younger ones as the slipped down the other side. She counted them off in her head until finally Bucky was running a hand down her back and gesturing for her to follow the others.

The crept into the trees without a sound and without pursuit. The alarms still blared in the compound, they were eerily alone in the still night.

Natasha waited until they reached the van they’d hidden a mile away from the compound perimeter to grab his right arm and peel the ripped fabric of his vest away from the whole in his arm. He flinched at her touch but immediately stilled again, allowing her to hiss at the wound.

“It’ll be fine. Just wrap it for the moment.”

Natasha stared up at him in horror. “You’ll lose the arm if you leave it.” 

“My physiology’s different from yours, I’ll be fine.” He gave her a small smile. “I promise, one metal arm is more then enough.”

“That’s not funny.” Natasha scowled, but dug out a bandage and bound the wound tightly, as he’d asked.

The only reason they all fit in the van was because Bucky had removed all the seats in the back. He wasted no time in starting the engine once Natasha was finished her first aid, but he took the time to place his guns on the floor just behind his seat. Still in reach, but close enough that one of the girls could conceivably make a grab for it. It was a kind enough gesture to bleed the tension out of their shoulders and a minute later Yulia started crying quietly. Natasha crawled over to her and pulled her into a hug, but she didn’t try to comfort her with words. The tears were those of a pure relief.

Behind them far off in the distance, fire lit up the sky as the compound erupted into flame one final time.

 

 

..

 

 

 

I. Ludmilla was Natasha’s age, only a month younger. She kept her hazel hair up in a tail and snuck around the kitchen at night, as if nervous that Bucky would be upset with her for trying to cook. She was a good fighter, quick on her feet, but even better with her hands. She hadn’t slept for three days in the safe house until Bucky took her outside and let her take apart their alarm system and put it back together again until she was satisfied with their security.

Natasha liked her, but they’d never interacted much at the compound. Their relationship had consisted of a bitter rivalry when they were much younger, but then the little girls had been brought in and they had pulled together with the unspoken agreement to watch out for the younger ones.

Now Ludmilla joined Natasha in the kitchen every evening to do the dishes and they’d turn the radio on and listen to old music together.

 

II. Nadja was the third survivor of the first group of girls, a half year younger then Natasha and Ludmilla. She had bright eyes and a curious personality she’d never let out at the compound. She had a dark complexion and curly hair she kept tightly braided, and one time she’d admitted to Natasha that she remembered her father to be a tall dark skinned man and her mother a pale Russian woman. She’d had a different name then, but she couldn’t remember it. 

Nadja was Natasha’s favourite of the girls in the compound, and they’d shared a bed for warmth many times when the handlers didn’t check on them. Nadja had been the closest Natasha had to a friend.

She’d collected three old books and many cheap magazines on their way across the ocean and she sat on her bed rereading them for hours.

 

III. Irina was seven, very blond and very pale skinned. She clung to Evgenia like a shadow and watched everyone with mistrustful eyes. It took her a week before she’d speak to anyone or look Bucky in the eye.

She watched Natasha when she thought she wasn’t paying attention and it was a little eerie.

But two weeks after they’d reached the safe house she brought Natasha a wild daisy from the yard.

 

IV. Evgenia was the same age as Irina and barely managed to contain her fierce personality in her tiny body. There was ginger in her sandy hair, though it didn’t rival the red in Natasha’s. In the compound, she’d trained like a maniac, determined to survive no matter the cost. She was the only one besides Natasha to have killed.

The first day in Canada she’d squirrelled away two knives from the kitchen and started carrying them under her shirt.

 

V. Dunja was six, and no more Russian by birth then Nadja. She had silky hair and almond shaped eyes that could win extra dinner from her handlers.

She was quiet, and very, very good at reading people. She sat at the kitchen table all day and just watched them all come and go, only ducking her head when Bucky was around. Sometimes she played cards, but never with others.

 

VI/VII. Nina and Tatiana might have been twins, though no one knew for sure and they didn’t share any physical features, one light haired, the other dark.

They told Natasha guiltily that they missed the compound. Not all of it, they’d hurried to explain, but the bedroom had been darker and the didn’t like sleeping now with the moon shining through the blinds.

Natasha went straight to Bucky and by the end of the day he’s rigged blackout curtains across their window.

 

VIII. At five years old and with curly chestnut hair Yulia was timid and prone to tears. She followed Ludmilla around like a duckling whenever Bucky was busy, but when he was in the room she followed him around instead. She was clearly trying to be stealthy about it, so Bucky pretended not to notice, smiling secretively at Natasha.

 

IX. Elena was four, and chewed on her black hair when she was anxious. Her concerns were always easily forgotten when faced with places to explore and new things to try. Natasha was a little jealous. Elena found every single hidden door in the house in seventy two hours.

 

X. Olga was also four and like Elena was much more likely to lay aside her paranoia in favour of a new distraction. Perhaps this was something all little children could do. Olga liked Natasha, for reasons Natasha couldn’t understand. She doodled nonsense pictures on any piece of paper her hand could find and presented each and every one to Natasha.

 

XI. Raisa was probably a little older then Jekaterina, but not by much. They didn’t know the two youngest exact ages and the girls were too small to remember their birthdays, so Natasha, Nadja, and Ludmilla had made them up. Raisa was born on May third, they had decided. Her short hair was nearly as red as Natasha’s and she had quickly taken to Bucky.

 

XII. Jekaterina  _adored_  Bucky. It made a funny combination with her shyness. She wanted him to carry her twenty four seven, and because Bucky was the best father in the world he obliged her more often then not. She’d giggle whenever he carried her, but as soon as he spoke directly to her she’d hide behind her white blond hair as if she thought he couldn’t see her.

They’d decided her birthday would be in July.

 

 

...

 

 

 

The one thing all the girls had in common was that they took their cues from Natasha when it involved Bucky. They watched the way she interacted with him and then hesitantly adjusted their behaviour accordingly. 

Bucky did the same thing, only in reverse. He seemed as terrified of them at first as they were of him, though Natasha couldn’t figure out  _why_.

The very first thing he’d done when they’d reached the safe house was show the girls around every last inch of it and then pair them off for the bedrooms in a way that made them feel safest. Only then had he allowed Natasha to pull him into the master bedroom and strip off his shirt to inspect his wound. 

The wound looked remarkably good for only being twenty four hours old and Natasha marvelled at that. It didn't stop her from laying out the first aid kit and getting to work cleaning both the entry and exit wound carefully, but it was pretty amazing.

Bucky let her work without protest, sitting in the middle of the bed and looking a little lost.

Natasha let him think while she finished cleaning and dressing his arm.

“None of them asked for the orphanage.” He said eventually. “I...thought they would.”

“You thought I would too.” She pointed out, packing the kit back up. “I don’t think you’re very good at predicting girls.”

Bucky hunched his shoulders and frowned. “I’m not a good father for anybody.”

“Stop saying that!” Natasha snapped, making Bucky flinch at her sudden volume.

He swallowed thickly and reached out to gather her into his arms. 

“Sorry. Sorry, Natasha, baby girl, sorry.” He muttered into her hair again and again. 

She could feel him trembling so she tried to rub her hand over the back of his neck soothingly like he did for her.

“I don’t want any other father, papa.” She told him quietly.

“Okay.” He whispered.

They curled up together in the bed that night and Natasha had never felt safer.

 

 

...

 

 

Bucky cooked them breakfast their first morning in the safe house. It was only oatmeal, because they’d only stocked the house with non perishables, but he flavoured it with vanilla and brown sugar. 

Natasha took great delight in setting the table for fourteen, a normal chore for normal children.

Nadja and Ludmilla were the first to venture out of their room and after watching them in the kitchen from the doorway they vanished back up the stairs, returning a few minutes later with the other girls in tow.

They hovered in an awkward huddle by the door and Bucky resolutely stirred the oatmeal wearing a placid expression Natasha had come to learn meant he was internally panicking.

These people,  _really_.

Natasha valiantly avoided rolling her eyes as she deliberately grabbed a bowl from the table and carried it over to Bucky by the stove. 

“Can I have some, please?” She said in her most casual tone.

“Of course, baby girl.” Bucky replied automatically, the corner of his mouth turning up.

“Thank you.” She told him sweetly once her bowl was full and then went back to the table, sat down, and pointedly started eating.

The tensions drained from the room slowly, like ice melting, and one by one the girls followed her example, emboldened when Bucky did nothing more then smile crookedly at their thank yous.

Bucky found his stride with the new members of their patchwork family after that. He picked up where they left off around the house with Natasha in tow, painting walls and fixing lights. There was something about seeing the Winter Soldier splattered in paint that set the other girls at ease and by the end of the week they were loudly debating paint colours for their rooms over dinner while Bucky looked on dubiously.

Natasha painted her room blue, even though she hadn’t slept a single night there. It would eventually become the guest room, but right now all she knew was that Bucky didn’t have nightmares when she slept tucked up against him.

They painted the master bedroom a sandy yellow colour.

 

 

 

...

 

 

 

Natasha woke up on a Saturday in November alone in the bedroom. This was unusual, because she woke up right at dawn everyday, just like Bucky.

Hopefully it didn’t mean anything bad.

She put on the wool dress Bucky had gotten her in Europe (red and white like a candy cane, according to Bucky,) and made her way sleepily downstairs. 

She and Bucky were always the first in the kitchen, even if they weren’t the first awake. Natasha liked that half hour where Bucky taught her how to make all sorts of breakfast foods and his attention belonged entirely to her. She didn’t resent the other girls for taking up more and more of his time, but that didn’t mean she didn’t miss being the only little girl in his life.

The day took another turn from the routine when she reached the bottom of the stairs and heard the voices of other girls murmuring in the dining room. 

Now very confused, and a little concerned, she picked up her pace.

The kitchen and dining room were bedecked in red. Paper flowers were strung up in a garland over a long scarlet tablecloth, a bundle of red wildflowers was tied to the back of her usual chair, and the glasses set out had been wrapped in red ribbon.

Bucky stepped away from the counter, smiling broadly, his hand already reaching out to rub her neck. 

“Happy Birthday, Natasha.” He murmured.

The other girls were sitting around the table, practically vibrating with excitement. 

“Happy Birthday!” They chorused.

Nadja and Olga dashed forward to grab her hands and pull her over to the table, Olga shouting. “You have a cake! We get cake for breakfast!”

“ _After_  breakfast.” Bucky corrected, following them and pushing Natasha’s seat in when she’d been manhandled into it. “Unless you want pancakes after cake?”

Natasha stared open mouthed at the cake, red like everything else, and felt tears gather in her eyes, closing her throat. She shook her head and buried her face in her hands. 

“Pancakes first.” She hiccuped. “Thank you, papa.”

She felt him press a kiss to the top of her head. “Anything for you, baby girl.”

Natasha couldn’t remember ever being so happy.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a complete oneshot, but....I feel there may be a couple more instalments in this series.


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